My wisdom teeth are coming through! Surprisingly, it's not that unpleasant - ha ha ha that was a lie it is fucking painful as fuck, if you will forgive the unimaginative simile. Anyway my mouth is sore and I kind of hate everyone. Kate and Mum are avoiding me and I do not blame them. I would also be avoiding me because it turns out that having a pointy bone shoved slowly through the inside of your face is pretty painful and when I am in pain I am horrible to deal with and not at all stoic. If I had suffered a war wound, I would not have sat there nobly in my bed, convalescing peacefully amid thoughts of my girl back home, holding on for my unborn love child or whatever - I would be thrashing and cursing and demanding more morphine in between taking slugs of whiskey and pinching the occasional nurse buttock.
On the plus side, now I am wise. (And, apparently, a bit of a pervert.)
Date the other night wasn't as blog-worthy as others have been, sadly - we had dinner, watched a movie, and drank some wine. Dinner wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be; the beetroot did not play a very large part in The Chicken Dish. I call it a 'dish' because 'mess' is a bit harsh and there isn't really a culinary term for what it was, although if I had to choose something I'd say, 'chunky risotto salad.' Which isn't actually a bad term because it tells you more or less everything you need to know.
The main components were chicken, rice, chorizo, (beetroot) and rocket (the chicken & rice mixture was dumped on the rocket then stirred about, which was very nice apart from the fact that I don't like rocket).
Had a great moment, though, when TFC, who was stirring chicken mess with evident pride, asked what sort of things I blogged about. ('Dates!') I said, "Oh, just shit, really...things that happened during my day, funny stories, recipes..." "Oh shit," he said. It turned out that he'd been under the impression that I was a crap cook and would therefore be incredibly impressed with The Chicken Dish. To be fair, I do kind of seem like the sort of person who would be a crap cook. Rest of the evening was nice, in a sedate sort of a way, and then I went home and went to bed, faintly disappointed that it was a perfectly nice evening and would not make for very good blogging.
In an attempt to not make any dick jokes today I won't mention work except to say that tomorrow morning I get to leave the training area and make actual proper ads! Please be aware that I am going to scan my First Ad Ever (FAE) and make you all say "wow, Ally, that's...that's a really good ad." I wonder what my FAE will be? Knowing me, it will probably be an escort one, or something equally inappropriate. Did you guys know that hookers aren't allowed to say 'wet and wild' in their ads, but they can say 'naughty but nice?' 'Whipping' is right out, but 'whip' is just fine. (As is 'busty.') Armed with this knowledge, I am confident that I will be able to provide excellent customer service - "I'm sorry, we can't print 'I need a good whipping.' How would you feel about 'Needs a good whip,' or perhaps, 'Whip it, whip it good?'" "I'm sorry, we can't print that. How would you feel about 'Wicked witch needs firm broomstick to ride?'"
Whoops I seem to have gone on a tangent and made a dick joke. My two biggest weaknesses, exposed! In tandem! Oh no! (Painkillers.)
On a side note, do any of you guys have a friend who always makes you feel a bit shit about yourself by being patronisingly encouraging every time you tell them about your life, then making many a (sneakily and subtly) belittling comment over the course of the conversation? I have one, and today they have been particularly bad (although the tooth pain thing may not be helping). Every time I come out of a conversation with them I feel incredibly shitty about how little I have made of my life. And then I think, "Wait, I only think that because I've spent the last half hour talking to someone who constantly assumes they're better than everyone else, and treats people accordingly." And I remember that actually they are a twat and I am twice the man they are* and resolve to firebomb their house** but I still feel a bit shitty.
Moral of the story: If, like me, you have one of these friends, you totally kick their arse in a figurative manner, and maybe you should consider doing so in a physical manner as well. Let's start a campaign or something. Let's start a Facebook group.
OK enough empowerment. I'm going to take some painkillers and go to bed.
* was going to say 'twice the person' but it doesn't have the same ring about it
**list of houses in need of firebombing is growing worryingly.